True Strength
by Mason Tims
Summary: To keep from going undead, one must possess something. Something more important than steel, and harder than the rock and stone they walk across. Jericho, a knight of old, must quest through Drangleic, gathering allies and foes in an attempt to do what has never been done before: end the curse, once and for all.
1. The Fall

True Strength

The Fall

The lake was as still as death, with only the sound of the paddles hitting the water breaking the silence. It was an unwelcome intrusion, and the forest around the lake seemed to actually grow more menacing the farther the boat went. The moon was out, but it was a strange color; red as blood, giving everything a very ominous, angry hue. Sometimes the moon would be covered by the clouds, turning everything pitch black, including the lake the boat was crossing. What appeared at a distance to be a massive archway changed into a ruined courtyard upon closer examination. The boat was going towards it slowly, turning here and there to avoid various debris in the water. In fact, if one looked at the boats path from above, and used a little imagination, one might come to the realization that it seemed to be like a moth, drawn towards a flame.

The boat itself was old and in dangerously shoddy condition, with water leaking in through multiple sources and the wood seeming to bend from the pressure of the water and the occupants inside. There were two sitting inside, one rowing and the other watching for any obstructions. The one spotting had stood about 5' 8" at the shore, and seemed to have a lithe frame from what one could guess from his baggy clothes. The one rowing was a little shorter, around 5'6", but seemed to be wider and stockier, and he rowed the heavy oak boat without any problem.

Finally, the boat stopped at the stone walkway with a dull thud, further defiling the silence. Once the boat came to a stop, the two figures stepped onto the shore. Neither had spoken to the other in the brief time they had come together for the boat ride. Neither knew the others name, what they hid under their cloaks, or what they were there for. In fact, they literally knew nothing about each other. However, they shared a bond that was stronger than any other.

The Darksign. And with the Darksign, they shared so much more than names. They shared the experience of wandering, of the growing hunger that made it hard to control one's actions without shaking. They both shared the feeling of madness slowly creeping up on them, eating away at their memories, their souls, their very essence, everything that made them human. They even shared the feeling of death, something that only they and the other cursed could say truthfully. In this way, they were closer than any siblings or comrades ever could be.

Facing towards the archway, both seemed to pause, wondering if this was the right course of action. Of course, there really was no other choice for those cursed with that damn sign. The choice was taken from them anyway as the boat started to glide back to its berth at the other end of the lake, unmanned. Neither of them was very surprised.

Both now realized that there really was no going back. Not that either of them would have even if the boat had stayed. Taking a breath, both started to shuffle towards the archway. They were naturally cautious, as the place radiated something that was not quite right, as if it did not belong in the world. They did, however, press on, as they had no choice. Both had heard the stories and had seen hollows, and neither had any interest in becoming the crazed lunatics that they had heard of.

As they passed through the archway into the courtyard, their attention was drawn to the most prominent object in the place: A massive dead oak, easily the largest that either had seen. It was literally crawling with fire flies, a moving carpet covering every branch. The fireflies cast a strange light upon the entire courtyard, making the tree actually seem as if it were glowing. As they reached the center, the clouds passed over the moon, momentarily cutting off it's already rather weak light.

When the clouds passed completely, however, something changed. It was subtle at first, the fireflies taking flight in small groups, seemingly ready to move on to the next tree. However, after a few moments, they all burst into the air, creating a huge drumming noise that vibrated the very stone the two figures stood on.

Buzzing and whirling around the courtyard, the fireflies burst through the archway from which the two figures had come, somehow setting alight the two torches on either side. They spilled out over the lake in the immediate area in front of the archway. As the two figures watched, the fireflies' swirled in the air, creating something that resembled a tornado. And underneath this torrent of insects, the water started to churn and churn until a massive vortex was created. It was so deep and dark, neither figure could see to the bottom, and each wondered what would happen next.

As they watched, a single firefly flew into the great rift, disappearing below. It was a tough choice, to just caste themselves in, giving themselves to the hands of fate.

But, after a moment, one, then the other, jumped in, doing just that.

After all, what choice did they have?

For they were already dead, and this was just their pilgrimage to hell.


	2. Chapter 1

True Strength

Chapter 1

Had he died again?

As he lay flat on what felt like a flat piece of stone, he took stock of all of his faculties. His fingers moved, so he still had his arms. He moved his toes next, meaning that his spine wasn't broken. All good signs. He still laid there for a few minutes, listening for anything out of the ordinary. Aside from his own breathing and some distant rustling of brush, he heard nothing.

He slowly opened his eyes, wanting to see where whatever that _thing_ had been had taken him. He hadn't been sure what to expect, but being in the center of a stone structure, surrounded by prairie, in the middle of a giant canyon definitely would not have been on his list. As he laid there, he saw something that could be considered amusing: the single firefly lay in his open palm, tickling the exposed skin that his glove did not cover. He slowly twisted his hand, watching with a small amount of fascination as the bug crawled now to the back of his hand, unconcerned with everything but it's very few necessary functions. Deciding it was time to end the game, he shook his hand and watched as the fluorescent bug flew away lazily, disappearing into the dark abyss of the canyon. He sat up slowly, feeling the ligaments in his spine stretch and hearing their angry pops, indicating that he had been lying on the stone for too long. Stretching, he pulled his hood back, revealing messy dark hair that had gone too long without either being combed or cut. He kept his mask on, covering his face from the nose down, not wanting to be rid of it just yet.

He pivoted and sat on his rear, sitting cross legged upon the flat rock as he gathered his bearings. He looked in front of him more, trying to develop some sort of plan. There was an opening in the rocks in front of him that would allow him to get a little higher up onto another grassy plateau. From there, he would have to find some way out of the canyon. It would take a while, but he could do it. It wasn't like he was short on time.

He then looked at his hands through some of the exposed fabric on his gloves. The skin was slightly more decayed, indicating that he had in fact died on his way down here. He cringed inwardly as he realized what a site he probably was. His skin was much darker and more saggy than a normal person's, looking like it was sliding off of his bones. At first, there hadn't been much difference. His eyes had become extremely bloodshot and his skin had become darker, not to mention the ring of the darksign appearing on his shoulder. Now, however, he had died a few times, and it was obviously beginning to show. For a moment, he was worried that his mind might be going as well, but discarded the idea soon after. His mind was fine, it was his body that was failing him.

He leaned back, setting his hands behind his back to hold him up, trying to relax a little bit. He was surprised, however, when his fingers came into contact with what felt like cloth. Turning slowly, he saw the crumpled form of the tall, lengthy undead that had jumped in with him. He immediately jumped behind a stone pillar, hidden from the thing's view. He was not proud of his reaction, but he had no weapons or armor, thus the need for such cowardice.

He peered out from behind the pillar, trying to see if the body was moving.

The body was still aside from the rising and falling of its chest, meaning that it was in fact alive and likely an undead. The obvious aside, he now had to figure out if it was still sane or not. He couldn't quite tell, as it was wearing a long hooded cloak, blocking all skin, and more importantly its head, from view. Looking around, he spotted a long stick a few feet away from him. He quickly retrieved it and aimed it at the crumpled form in front of him. Carefully, he jabbed the stick into the things' back a couple of times, trying to get a reaction. If it was hollow, he would have to kill it with his bare hands or run away. If it was sane, however, they might be able to work together.

He poked it a few more times, waiting for something to happen. Finally, the thing stirred and weakly wacked the stick away, mumbling. He held the stick like a spear, ready to smack the other undead and then beat him to death. Slowly, the lithe undead rose, looking around in front of it. It seemed to be sane, from what he could tell from its movements. Normally, all hollows that he had seen made very jagged, unnatural motions with their arms and legs, as if their brain was malfunctioning. Which, in retrospect, it was. This one's, however, were slow and easy, not forced.

When he really knew that it was not hollow was when it turned around and saw him. After a moment of shock, it had the same reaction as he did when he first saw it lying on the ground. It quickly jumped back, but at the last second slipped and fell onto the stone. It started to scoot back from him, holding its hands in front of him in a pleading gesture.

He threw the stick away and spoke for the first time in what seemed like ages. He almost didn't recognize the dry, withered voice that he heard as his own.

"Not going to hurt you." He half wheezed, half rasped. He was surprised by the pain speaking brought, and immediately stopped. Had it really been that long since he had talked to others? Or was this one of the side effects of becoming too hollow?

His words did seem to have the desired effect, however, as the other undead immediately stopped retreating. It sat there for a moment, confused, before shakily getting to its feet, regarding him with suspicion. He could understand why. After all, he hadn't met very many friendly people on his way to where ever this was, so he doubted that his new acquaintance had either.

It rose slowly, ready to bolt at any moment. When he made no move to attack, the figure seemed to stall, confused at the new and uncommon development.

He, however, already knew, and with a nod to the much taller undead, he turned and started walking through the dried, dead grass to the opening in the rocks. After a few moments, he heard the other one following him.

Once he reached the top of the opening, he immediately noticed the dilapidated bridge and the house beyond it, barely visible beyond the mist of a water fall to the bridge's left. He started walking towards the bridge, when he stopped cold. When he did, the other one followed suit, each barely letting out a breath. To their right, something was coming. The waist high grass hid it from their view, and the only thing that gave the creature away was the rustling of the grass as it crept closer to the two undead. Both undead assumed ready stances, prepared to fight or run to the bridge, but most likely the latter. No weapons limited the amount of things that they could kill by themselves to about zero.

Slowly, the thing crept closer, still hidden from view. Each undead caught glimpses of black, and both were starting to become even more afraid of what it might be. Each watched in rapt attention as the beast drew even closer, almost coming out of the grass onto a bare path. Slowly, red eyes were revealed, and each undead unconsciously stepped back. However, because they were so focused on the beast in front of them, neither had noticed the rustling that was coming behind them, even closer.

When they stepped back, there was an explosion of movement directly behind them, so close that one of them accidentally kicked the creature that had made the noise. If asked, neither would have admitted to jumping three feet off of the ground in shock and making a beeline for the bridge and house beyond, with angry dogs nipping at their heels. Instead, they simply would have said that it turned out to be a bird, or something that hadn't scared them out of their skins.

…..

Neither undead knocked as they burst through the door and immediately slammed it, the beasts banging repeatedly against it for a few minutes before finally giving up. They then leaned against the door for a moment, both exhausted from the sudden exertion.

They stood slowly, only then becoming aware that they were not alone in the room they stood in. As they turned around, they were greeted by the sight of three incredibly old hags, each of whom were staring at them with mocking interest and wearing red robes, and a homely woman, who regarded them with guarded kindness. For a moment, nobody said anything, the awkwardness of the situation setting in. Then, one of the old crones started to laugh mockingly before nearly hacking up a lung. Once she had recovered, she spoke.

"What seems to be the ruckus?" She wheezed before getting a good look at their faces. Once she had, a sardonic smile came to her lips as she said mockingly, "Oh my, look at your faces. You have the faces of the cursed."

Before either undead could respond, one of the other ladies beat them to it.

"They're undead." Said the one sitting in the rocking chair near the fire, before continuing, "The undead have come to play. They all end up here, all the ones like you. You both talked to a kindly old dear, didn't you?"

When neither of them responded right away, she took that as license to continue, which she did by giving an ominous warning.

"Your finished. You'll both go hollow." She weezed, seemingly unable to talk normally anymore. "Yes, you'll both become like them." Once she said this, she seemed to lose all interest in them, and looked deeply into the fire for something only she could see. As soon as she finished, however, the last old one began to speak.

"Hollows," She began, her voice deeper than the other two, "Prey upon men, feast on their souls. This is the fate of the cursed." At this, she cackled quietly, followed by her two compatriots.

Finally, the first one directed a very simple question to the two undead being openly mocked. "What are your names?"

The short one went first, speaking quickly and quietly. "My name is Jericho. Pleasure." He was able to speak slightly easier than last time, ready for the pain that was going to come. He didn't know why he was playing these hags' game, but he did none the less.

Once he finished, the tall one went next. It's voice was higher than Jericho was expecting, and he wondered for the first time if it might be a woman's voice.

"Christo, of Jugo." Christo's voice was even more raspy than Jericho's had been, and he began to wonder how much death Christo had suffered.

"At least you know your own names."The first one said in her sarcastic, uncaring tone. However, she then reached into her cloak and produced to strange looking bundles. She gave them to the two undead, saying "Here's your reward for sharing. They're human effigies."

Each undead peered at their respective bundles, wondering what they could be for. After a moment, the first crone spoke again, apparently bored waiting for something. "Take a closer look. Who do you think it's supposed to be?" Jericho did as he was told, staring hard into the bundle. It felt as if it was made of silk, but not quite. It was something he had never touched before. As he looked closer and closer, and image started to form from the tangled strands. It was familiar, though at first he could not place it.

"Think back, deep into your past." Suddenly, Jericho gasped, as images of his life flashed before his eyes, things that he had forgotten; both do to the curse and to his long life, which could be considered one and the same. He glanced at the old woman, who now had a smirk on her face. Before he could voice it, she said it.

"Yes, it's an effigy of you." He now saw it crystal clear. He saw his face from when he was human, the black hair, the beard, the scars on his cheeks and face. And then everything came back to him. He saw himself training with Sir Giligan, he saw himself at the battle of old Astora, and he saw himself at the slaughter of Delphi. Everything rushed back to him in a heartbeat. Duels, battle, wars, they all rushed through his mind, pieces of himself that he hadn't realized that he had lost. Once he recovered, he saw something astonishing. The effigy started to melt into the skin of his open hand, disappearing into his open palm. However, what happened next floored him. He saw his skin actually becoming fuller, as if it was being restored to life. He quickly unwrapped his bindings and saw that his arm was back to normal. Not only that, but he actually felt more alive, for lack of a better word. It was like he was 10 years younger, and he felt as if he could fight an army and win. He looked over, and saw that Christo was having similar effects, his (Jericho was going to go on the assumption that Christo was a "he" until proven otherwise) arms uncovered to reveal tan, taught skin covered in small scars.

"All people come here for the same reason." The first hag started again, bringing their attention back to her. "To break the curse. You're no different, I should think."

"Doesn't stand a chance." The second one piped up, still staring into the flames of the fire, rocking slowly.

"Well, you never know." The third one cackled, causing all three of them to go into a fit of harsh laughter.

The first one then gave them some actually useful advice, for which they were grateful. "Go through the door, and trot along to the kingdom. But remember, hold on to your souls. They're all that keep you from going hollow."

She then paused for a moment, seeming to mull something over, before issuing one more dark prophesy. "Oh, ill fool you no longer. You'll lose your souls, over and over again." She laughed at the end, causing both Jericho and Christo to flinch, taking her words to heart.

Jericho looked at his temporary companion, wondering what would happen next. Before they could leave, however, the maid beckoned them to her, out of earshot of the old women. When they reached her, she spoke quickly and quietly, not wanting to arouse the attention of the hags.

"Listen" She whispered, her voice barely audible, "there is a chest upstairs with a few more human effigies, along with some equipment. Outside, a cart sits, where a merchant left it before casting himself off of the bridge. Take what you need, and good luck."

Finished, she walked back to the fire, tending a soup with her ladle. Neither of them asked why she was helping them, instead they just accepted it and would think about it later. They walked up stairs and found the chest, opening to find a not only the effigies, but also a few strange crystals, some binoculars, some holy water, and a couple bags to hold everything in. In the bottom of the chest, Christo came up with two green flasks. Both immediately knew what they were, as they had been told about the miracles of the estus flasks. A small smile came to both of their faces as they realized their good fortune.

As they were going back down the stairs, Jericho saw something out of the corner of his eye. Something was behind the chest, glinting with the little bit of light from the fire below. He walked over and moved the chest, revealing what looked to be an old golden pendent on a silver chain. He had no doubt that it was worthless, but it called to him just the same. Looking around to make sure no one was watching, he slipped it into his cloak and went to join the others.

The two undead stood there, unsure of what to do next. The old women, however, were done with their game, and were now promptly ignoring them. With no other recourse, they walked out of the door, hoping to be ready for whatever came next.


	3. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

Outside, they both saw a cart in the dark gloom, leaning against a rock wall to their right. As Jericho stepped down from the doorway onto the ground, he saw that a bonfire was to his left. He immediately lit it, its flames roaring to life to bask him in its warm, healing glow. He took his estus flask out of his bag, and watched in mild curiosity as the bottle seemed to literally absorb some of the fire, the golden orange flame flowing into the bottle until it was almost brimming with golden light. Putting the bottle away, he stared into the flames, thankful to be resting after such a harrowing half hour. He was soon joined by Christo, who sat opposite of him, watching him from across the fire. He still had the mask on, and Jericho wondered what was hidden underneath. However, Jericho could see his eyes, and they held enough accusation and wariness for him to guess what Christo was thinking.

Jericho had never been one to rush into things, especially partnerships. However, for a short time at least, he and this undead would have to cooperate, at least until they knew where they stood in this hell hole. It would be a lot easier if they didn't have to worry about being stabbed in the back. He was about to begin explaining his thoughts when Christo beat him to the punch.

"Why didn't you try and kill me?"

The question hung in the air like the smoke from the fire, and Jericho wasn't quite sure how to respond. Christo seemed to be very cautious of him, and for good reason. Undead generally were selfish, solitary creatures. They treasured their souls to the point that they would kill anyone who appeared hostile, or who had souls that they wanted. Christo, however, was especially paranoid. Maybe he had been a thief in his past life?

"I didn't want to." Jericho responded dismissively, trying to get out of the conversation. It was the truth. At least partially.

"Why?"

"Because I do not harm those who have done none to me." The answer sounded weak to Jericho, and for good reason. He was only partially answering again, keeping his true motives obscured. He hated playing games, but it was his only saving grace at the moment.

The answer seemed to satisfy Christo, however, and they sat in silence for a time, basking in the warm, healing glow of the fire. It had been too long since Jericho had felt anything but cold and numbness, and to say that the warmth felt absolutely astonishing didn't do the sensation justice. Eventually, however, they both rose and moved to the wagon, hoping to find something to use.

The weapons and armor were rusty and dull, but there were a few usable pieces in the lot. Jericho managed to find a long sword that was at least in slightly usable condition, rust going up and down the blade turning the once black metal to orange and brown. He also dug up a chain mail cuirass and some hardened leather leggings. Add to that some decent gloves and a round wooden shield that, if nothing else, would stop at least a couple blows from a sword, and he was ready to go. Christo had just as much luck. He pulled out a shirt and jacket with hardened leather pads sewn in, along with some tough leather boots and a hood. For weapons, he pulled out a short sword and a scimitar. Jericho, for his part, was immediately put off. Dual wielding was fine for street performers, but in a real battle or war, very few actually had the skill to use both blades effectively and also keep themselves in one piece. Also, one would almost always be better off with a shield, due to the fact that you could wear your opponent down. Then again, Christo could be one of those few.

He put the thought out of his mind, figuring that he would see Christo's skill soon enough.

Now that they were each prepared, they paid one last, short visit to the bonfire to light a torch before setting off into the dark tunnel, wondering what was going to come next.

Neither had been expecting a living corpse to block their way.

The thing was old and rotted, clearly hollow. It was covered in what once might have been clothes, but now were simply tattered cloth around emaciated limbs. It had no hair, and the skin on its fingers and around its mouth was gone, revealing rotted bone and teeth. It clutched what had once been a sword in its right hand, with nothing of its left hand remaining.

Jericho moved to eliminate the undead, but was stopped by Christo walking forward, obviously intent on killing the thing himself. Jericho elected to sit and watch, to try and see how good the man actually was.

Christo approached the undead, who had at this point realized that there were two beings nearby with souls inside. It turned to face Christo, its milky white eyes widening. For a moment, it simply stood there, glaring at them. Then it charged Christo, sword raised in a frenzied urge to kill.

Christo, ready for the crazed rush, stepped to the left of the undead, sending his sword straight into the hollow's abdomen. Not finished, he immediately retracted his sword and slashed upwards with his scimitar, the slice going along the hollow's back, deep enough to destroy what had been left of its spine. As the hollow fell, he whipped his sword to his side, cleaning the blade. He followed suit with his scimitar before sliding them both into their respective sheaths as the hollow burst into hundreds of tiny white lights, flowing into Christo quickly.

_Well, he's fast._ Jericho thought to himself as he started to walk after Christo. He had killed the hollow very quickly, and now Jericho was at ease. He knew that if he could handle that hollow so easily, he would likely be able to hold his own against the more formidable of the land's creatures.

They walked on for a time, dispatching any hollows they came upon. None really posed a challenge to the two warriors, as they all shared the same insane, thoughtless charges and very predictable slashes with their swords and daggers. Things were going quite well, considering the stories about the place. Each had a small hope that, just maybe, things had been over exaggerated.

That was, until they saw the ogre.

Christo had been the first to spot the behemoth, stopping Jericho and pointing it out. It was rather far away from them, standing on a small inlet beneath one of the giant tress. And it was not focused on them in any case. Rather, it was swinging at something that neither could see. When Jericho remembered that he had the binoculars, he quickly retrieved them and looked again, wondering what could have the giant so agitated.

He looked just in time to see a helpless undead being smashed beneath its giant fist. Jericho could see multiple corpses through the binoculars. Some were smashed into pulp, while some others must have been squished in the monster's hands, as there were a few piles of grotesque, twisted flesh. One of the bodies appeared to have literally been ripped limb from limb, and Jericho felt slightly sick from the sight of it.

Thinking that there was nothing he could do to help, he was just about to put the binoculars away when he saw something peculiar. One of the corpses seemed to move. Looking closer, something that resembled fear gripped his heart.

The girl who was playing dead couldn't have been older than fourteen. She was lying face down in the sand, certainly scared to death of accidentally being stepped on by the giant thing, and the only thing giving her away was the rapid rise and fall of her chest. She was small, even for her age. Skinny, and short as well, likely only about 5'. It wasn't hard to figure out that the group of corpses that were now bursting into souls had once been her guardians, as the girl was too young to be by herself. T

She didn't belong down there, curse or no.

Jericho placed the binoculars in his bag, steeling himself for what was to come. Part of him wanted to walk away from this, to leave the girl to her fate, as she likely would have left him. However, an even larger part screamed at him for action. Part of it was his training and life as a knight acting up. He had never been one of those knights that took advantage of the poor and weak. He had been a REAL knight, a servant to his lord and his people, and had continued that livelihood even after his kingdom had fallen. It was in his bones to help this girl. He wouldn't expect Christo to come along, as they were all likely going to die in the upcoming battle and he would more than likely be intent on keeping his new found humanity.

Therefore, he was surprised when, after explaining what was going on and what he was intending, Christo nodded, drew his blades, and led the way into the tree that they would have to go through to get down to the area where the girl was. After the initial surprise, Jericho found himself relieved that Christo was coming. After all, his speed might prove to be the deciding factor in the fight, as he doubted he was fast enough to dodge for long, or that the shield would hold against more than a couple of hits from the beast.

Once entering the tree, an arrow flew by them, and they realized that they had the problem of dealing with an archer that still seemed to have his faculties about him, at least somewhat. While this in itself would not have been an issue, the gaping trench between them and the archer was. As the archer knocked another arrow, Jericho and Christo took cover behind a giant tree that was next to the huge fissure, trying to figure out what to do. When Jericho looked to the tree, the answer seemed obvious. Bracing himself, he raised his shield to his shoulder, backed up, and slammed into the tree. When it budged slightly, he repeated the process and was rewarded with the tree falling across the gap, giving them a nice little bridge. After running across, Jericho took it upon himself to deal with the archer, ripping the bow from his hands and throwing the hollow into the gaping hole below, not even caring when he felt the souls flow into him. Unfortunately, as they started to walk away, the rotting tree gave, and it fell into the pit, cutting off their escape. Cursing, they again started to leave, both trying to figure out how to get out once they saved the girl.

They walked out of the tree and quietly moved to a rocky area overlooking the beach where the slaughter had taken place. The girl hadn't changed position, and the only thing that gave any indication that she herself wasn't a corpse was the rise and fall of her chest. From this close, both could see that she was the only survivor of the group, as the rest of the corpses were mangled to the point of being unrecognizable as human. Some had actually been reduced to a substance that had the same consistency of gelatin. It didn't escape the two undead that they could be sharing the same fate very soon. The monster was standing dumbly in the center of the beach, seemingly asleep.

They moved back to the tree, out of ear shot of the monster. Once he was sure they were safe, Jericho said his plan, what little there was of it.

"I think one of us should go down and lure it over to the overlook." He had never been one to beat around the bush or sugar coat things, and wasn't starting now. "The other will need to wait and attack the creature from above, as I don't think there will be any other real way to kill it quickly other than striking a killing blow to the head." Finished, he looked to Christo, indicating that it was his choice. Both were dangerous, and both would likely result in their deaths. It was only fair that he got to choose which risk he was taking.

After thinking it over for a moment, Christo came to a decision. "I think that you are probably a lot heavier than me, and I know for a fact that I am faster than that thing out there. I'll be the bait." He seemed rather chipper about the situation, and his confident eyes, the only thing that could be seen with his mask on, put Jericho at ease a little. He wasn't afraid of dying, or of the creature. What he was nervous of was dragging Christo down with him. It always happened, sooner or later.

With the plan finalized, Jericho moved to his spot on the ridge, while Christo moved to the beach below.

…..

Christo hadn't been sure of Jericho at first, as most knights were never to be trusted knights, and Jericho reeked of their stench. In Christo's experience, knights were either self obsessed war mongers who served any king so long as they paid and rewarded them generously, self obsessed politicians who were knights only in name and not deed, or self obsessed warriors who did not care about the people they were supposed to be protecting, only the glory of battle and the thrill and spoils of a fight. Jericho, however, seemed to be the rare knight that fit the ideals that they were created for. He was strong enough to push that tree down, brave enough to immediately decide to rescue the girl, and smart enough to come up with a plan before charging in. Christo had not seen him fight much, but had seen enough to know that he was a very skilled warrior. He would make a powerful ally, if Christo so chose.

Now, however, wasn't the time to think of that, as the beast was coming into view. The beast was standing the middle of the beach, facing away from him. It was a monster in every sense of the word. It was easily ten feet tall, possibly twelve. It stood on two meaty legs, and its skin had the texture and coloration of rocky gravel. Add to that the massive tusks and one eye, and Christo could easily see how the group had failed to even scratch the beast.

However, Christo would not fail to take the beast down.

After all, she was considered by all who knew her to be one of the greatest swordsmen of her time. Many misjudged her for being a woman, and openly challenged her, which was the reason she now hid her face. When they were beaten, they normally crawled off, tail between their legs and moaning apologies. Or they tried to kill her, in which case she would introduce them to the point of her blade. She had always won, and planned on continuing here in Drangleic. Her first real opponent lay in front of her, and she was as excited as she was scared.

Deciding that now was as good a time as any, she approached the monster, trying to sneak up to it. She got about twenty feet away before it whirled on her. As it charged, she vaguely wondered how long it had known she was there, and if it was smart enough to try and ambush her. But as she dodged at the last second, sending the monster running at nothingness, and giving it a slice across its thick thighs to boot, she decided she didn't really care. It would die like anything else, after all.

Turning around, the beast attempted to charge again, and was met with the same result on the other thigh. The cuts were not doing much except angering the creature, and it spun on Christo in a rage. Christo saw the opportunity, and moved so that the beast would crash into the wall below Jericho. Looking at the beast, she stood ready, waiting. After a moment, the beast charged, wanting to rip apart the thing that had brought it the annoying, stinging pain.

At the last possible moment, Christo dove between the ogre's legs. It had no time to stop, and smashed into the rock wall head first, the impact knocking a few stones loose and shaking the sand around the two combatants. It was dazed for a moment, but quickly regained its limited senses. Turning to Christo again, she could see the fury in its eyes, and knew that she wouldn't be able to keep this up forever. However, looking above the creature, she saw that she wouldn't have to.

…..

"BEAST!" Jericho yelled, now holding his sword in two hands

The ogre looked up, making the last mistake it ever would. As soon as he saw his target, Jericho stepped off the edge, plummeting down, sword first, into the ogre, his sword going right into the monster's eye. As he hit, Jericho was jarred by the impact, and had to let go of his sword. It had gone to the hilt, sticking right into the giant's skull. Once he hit the ground, Jericho immediately rolled to the side, trying to avoid the beast falling on him. However, as he rolled to safety and looked at his handiwork, he was shocked to see the beast still standing. Indeed, it simply stood, staring at the sky. It didn't move, and both of the undead were wondering if this was another of its tricks, like the ambush when Christo first approached it.

Jericho slowly got up, watching the creature carefully. When it did not seem to move, he approached it cautiously, ready to try and escape. But still it simply stood there, motionless. Once he got within a few feet of it, he reached out his shield, lightly poking the creature, probing for a response. It fell backward with enough force to shake the sand that the two other undead were standing on, and scared Jericho enough that he had jumped back a good three feet. As it hit the ground, it exploded into thousands of souls, all flowing directly into Jericho. For a moment, he was taken aback by the feeling of the power he now possessed, but it soon passed. Once it had, he remembered the girl and Christo.

Turning, he saw Christo holding the girl, trying to get her to calm down. She was hysterical, and could not be understood. Jericho trotted over after grabbing his sword and kneeled down to the girl, who looked at him with dark brown eyes that held the type of fear that only the truly terrified could muster. She was younger than he had initially thought, about thirteen or so, body wise, though she could be older than either he or Christo. Her long dark hair was matted with blood and mud, and her brown skin was in the same state. She was babbling and screaming, completely unraveled. While it was totally understandable, she needed to wake up so that they could move to a safer location.

"Hey, its ok, you're safe now." He tried to calm her, but she wouldn't have it, muttering and swinging her hands around frantically. He tried a few more times to calm her, even shaking her slightly, but to no avail. Finally, after giving an apologetic look to Christo, he did what needed to be done and slapped her across the face, brining her back to reality.

The effect was immediate. She instantly stopped babbling and screaming, and seemed to go limp in Christo's arms. After a moment, she seemed to come back to reality and realized that she wasn't alone.

"Your safe now, little one." Jericho said, much softer this time. He gently leaned her up into a sitting position, looking her over for injuries while she came to her senses. He found none, and she seemed to be breathing fine. "I think you're ok. Can you tell me your name little one?"

"My name is Lindel." She spoke with a slight accent, and Jericho immediately recognized it as Jugish from his time spent there. Looking her over, she certainly fit the looks of one from Jugo; tanned skin, dark hair, dark eyes, slight body. She continued, the sound of her voice letting her know that she was alive. "We were on our way to a camp called Majula, and were crossing this lake when the monsters attacked. We managed to get to the shore, but then they cut off our escape. No one else made it. They must be back at the port."

Something that the girl had said was bothering Jericho, and it took him a moment to realize what it was. He looked at the girl again, concern plain on his face. He took the girl by her shoulders, looked into her eyes and prayed that he had miss heard her.

"Did you say monsters? As in, more than one?" His voice was at a whisper. Christo had caught it to, and was now looking around, hand on his swords.

The sound of falling water and the vibrations of a great weight hitting the ground answered him before Lindel could.

The beast now stood between the group and the way off of the beach. It was even larger than the other one, and its darker skin was covered in scars and marks from its previous victims. It regarded them hungrily, and seemed unconcerned about his fallen comrade.

And in the face of the monster, Jericho stood and faced it. There were no tricks this time, no plan or clever tactics. The beast had them dead to rights, and the only way that any of them were going to get out alive was if there was a distraction. As he drew his sword and adjusted the shield on his arm, he spoke to Christo, never taking his eyes off of the creature.

"Christo, when it comes for me, get the girl to safety. I should be able to hold it off long enough to give you a good head start." His voice was flat and disconnected. He didn't fool himself about his chances. His sword was dull and rusted, and his shield was in even worse condition. It wouldn't take long for the beast to finish with him, but it would have to take long enough. Christo didn't argue, knowing it was the best course of action, and appreciating that he had chosen to take the risk himself. Pulling Lindel to her feet, Christo whispered to the girl to follow her as Jericho approached the monster.

He felt the strange calm that always accompanied the moments before a fight wash over him. He was ready for whatever would come next, and the only thought in his mind was to get the monster to chase him, giving Christo time to escape. He circled to the left of the monster, sword and shield at the ready as he drew its gaze. It was not very intelligent, and could not immediately tell that it was being fooled. It walked forward, ready to crush the man beneath it and feast on the remains. However, it turned around quickly, realizing that it had been fooled just as Christo and Lindel were reaching the top of the stone path. Roaring, it tried to follow, but felt a pain in its leg. Looking down, it saw the man withdraw his sword and rush in front of it, blocking the path.

As the beast stared down at him, Jericho still felt the strange sense of calm. He slashed at the beast, driving it back a step. It was a matter of time before he was overwhelmed, but every second he could get would help. If he slowly retreated, slowing the beast down immensely, he might even get out alive, along with the girl and Christo. The beast, irritated, swung its massive fist from over head, intending to flatten the warrior. However, Jericho jumped back, and the blow hit nothing but stone. Seeing an opportunity, he slashed down with his sword, and was able to slice off three of the beast's fingers on its right hand. However, this proved to be his downfall, as the force required for the blow, along with the thick bones of the beasts hand, proved too much for the old sword. With a snap that carried a strange, almost remorseful edge, the old sword broke, leaving Jericho with a foot long dagger. Roaring, the beast swung its left hand into Jericho's side, propelling him like an arrow through the air, only to land on the sand below. He would have gone down to make sure that the man was dead, but remembered the other two. Thinking that its opponent had been defeated, the beast walked up the path, looking for its prey.

A regular person would have been practically destroyed by the blow, as the force from it could likely have broken the rock that the giant was now walking up. However, Jericho was far from normal, and had been even before coming to Drangleic. He had been a warrior for a long time, and the years had strengthened his body, along with the souls he had taken from his foes. As it was, his right arm was shattered, and his rib cage wasn't much better. From the difficulty breathing and the small amount of blood in his throat, he could tell that he likely had a punctured lung, which meant that he was likely going to die. The thought did not alarm him, as he knew that he would somehow wake up at the bonfire near the witches' hut, and would simply have to return and take the power that he left laying here on the beach. He could picture the glowing essence above the dust left from his corpse with a familiarity that slightly disturbed him. He laid in the sand for a couple of minutes, hovering between consciousness and unconsciousness, ready to die.

It was the thought that he might have failed that finally brought him back. The creature was not dead, or even that injured, and he held no illusions about what the thing would do to Lindel and Christo. Even if they just came back, the pain that they would feel would be unbearable. He struggled to his feet, intent on helping in any way he could.

He made it about five steps before being brought to his knees by the pain. As he kneeled there, he had a thought. He searched through his bag, which was no easy feat with one arm, until he eventually pulled out the now yellowed estus flask. He had never tried it before, and it only held enough for a few gulps, but he had to hope.

Gritting his teeth, he put the bottle to his lips and drank.

…..

It hadn't been enough time.

Christo and Lindel had ran as fast as they could while Jericho had distracted the monster, running up the path and taking the right fork, as Christo already knew that the left one was not an option. The path had gone around until the beach was only just visible, and Christo was wondering if they would have to jump soon. However, that decision was taken from them when they came upon the end of the path. A tree stood directly in front of them, stopping any chance they had to jump to the path beyond.

Turning back, Christo was about to shout to Jericho, and watched as he was smacked to the beach. As she watched his body hit the ground and roll, she knew that he was dead. No one could have survived a direct blow from that beast's fist, and she realized that the same thing would likely happen to them. Looking, she saw that the beast was now not to be seen.

Meaning that the beast was now coming for them.

Looking around, she noticed that the tree should be long enough to bridge the gap. Throwing caution to the wind, she ran and smashed into the tree. It didn't move. Cursing under her breath, she repeated this again, which yielded a slightly better result. It had moved an inch. Seeing this revitalized her, and she smashed into it again. Lindel joined in as well, though she could not really do much. All the while, they felt the ground shake as the monster came closer and closer.

It was just starting to slowly fall when the beast came upon them.

Turning, Christo saw the slashes and cuts that Jericho had carved into the beast, including the now nearly fingerless hand. Somewhere in the back of her mind, she was impressed at the man's resolve. Looking back at the log, she saw that it had now fallen completely, and that Lindel was now crossing it. Turning back to the beast, she started to plan. She only had to hold it off long enough for the girl to get across. Then, she could sprint over and they could run back to the Hag's hut to meet with Jericho. Afterwards, they could continue on, bypassing the beast all together until they reached Majula.

As the monster started to advance upon her, she wondered how much of a chance she had.

The monster struck first, swinging its left fist in and over hand arch, trying to knock her off of the ledge. She was able to duck just in time, and slashed up with her scimitar, cutting its for arm rather deeply. Roaring, the monster then tried to smash her with what remained of his right hand. She dodged again, getting in front of the fist and giving it another slash.

"I'M ACROSS!" She heard the girl yell. But she waited. When the monster swung again, she seized her chance, jumping back and running across the log.

She was just getting to the middle of the tree when the monster grabbed it, lifting it up as easily as a fork. She saw its face, fierce in its contempt and hate, and she knew she was doomed. However, just when the monster was tipping up the log, which would have caused her to slide down into its waiting tusks, she saw a flash of movement round the tree.

Jericho. He had his shield raised, now holding it in his right hand. It dawned on her what he was intending to do as he launched himself in the air with his shield tilted so that the rim was in front of his body, hitting the beast in the back of its knee.

The beast had already been standing at the edge, and Jericho's rush combined with the weight of the log had been enough to cause it to stumble. It fell forward, launching the log and Christo to the other side of the gap. At the last moment, it managed to force itself in between the gape, its hands and feet resting on either side. Jericho moved quickly while he had the advantage, scrambled over the ogre's putrid smelling body to the other side. Once he got over he turned to look at his defeated opponent. It could not move, as one shift would cause it to tumble down.

Jericho squatted in front of the monster, thinking of all of the lives it must have ended to have grown so powerful. It was a force of nature, to be sure, and he knew that the body count would have likely been in the hundreds. The beast was glaring at him with the particular type of hatred reserved only for defeated beasts and defeated men felt for those who had proven their better. He knew without doubt that the beast would like nothing more than to squish the insignificant ant in front of it, and would if given a chance.

Without further thought, he smashed the edge of his shield into the giant's remaining fingers, breaking them. He did it again and again until he got his result. The ogre, unable to hold on any longer, simply fell, tumbling down into the rocks below. Jericho watched as it smashed into the rocks, causing its figure to deform with the impact, until it burst into souls. As Jericho turned to start walking, he felt the souls flowing into him, making him feel even more powerful. He began walking again, Christo and Lindel falling into step behind him as they walked through the canyon, heading to the light far away.

Far ahead of them, a glowing firefly flew ahead through the tunnel, blazing a trail that they would unwittingly follow.

**And so it begins, ladies and gentlemen. I have been wanting to start this for awhile, and am excited to finally be doing it. I really enjoy dark souls, and want to do it justice. I am really excited to bring this to you guys, and hope you will join me for the ride. Please, give feed back and ideas, as i love to talk with people about my stories. Of course, i use your idea, you get the credit. Finally, if you have some music that reminds you of a character or an event in the chapter, please by all means share with the class. I love music, and enjoy listening to new things. I think the song for this chapter, though the tone doesn't really fit, is Welcome to The Jungle, by guns and roses. Message fits, tone doesn't. If it helps, here is an acoustic version of the song.  
**

** watch?v=wK3matl8XBY**

**And a special thanks to Leider Hosen, who is practically my idea trampoline.**

**And now, for the next chapter.**


	4. Chapter 3

True Strength

Chapter 3

The cave at the end of the canyon was exceptionally dark, and both Jericho and Christo were on guard, just waiting for something to jump out of the gloom. They had been walking through the cave for a couple of minutes, and already they wanted out. Decaying tree roots cluttered the floor, snagging their feet and pulling at their legs. They were all drained, the girl from the exhaustion of shock and running for her life, and Jericho and Christo from fighting the giant beasts. The floor of the cave was becoming a real problem, and Jericho was about to call for a rest when they started to see light. The effect was immediate. Upon seeing the light, they all felt a weight come off of their shoulders. They walked and breathed easier, each wanting to get out of the cave as soon as they could.

After a few twists and turns, the light growing tantalizingly brighter with each step, they came to the caves mouth and to a view that could only be described as brilliant. The sun was setting over a vast sea, bathing the rocky countryside in a golden glow. The air held the unmistakable smell of the sea, and each of the undead were calmed by it, for their own reasons. Down the well worn path, past a small field of stone, a small town stood, weather beaten and run down. Even from their position far away from the town, the group of undead could see shotty and rundown buildings, a stone monolith, and multiple tents that formed a small circle around what was obviously a bonfire. The entire scene put them at ease, and they somehow knew that this was a safe place.

After a few moments of gazing down at the town, the group started to descend the worn path, Jericho leading the way. It was easy going, and Jericho was able to relax for the first time in what felt like an eternity. As he walked, he felt the tall, dead grass lick his fingertips, the sensation oddly calming. It brought back memories of a place far away from Drangliec. A place that had been as familiar to him as any sword or shield he had ever used. A place that didn't exist anymore. He didn't dwell on the last thought, and instead enjoyed the strange sensation that played along his fingers.

…..

In Majula, a knight sat on a stump, brooding at the bonfire. His entire demeanor spoke of defeat, like someone who had been beaten down too many times to rise again. His brown hair was receding from his head, and his once sharp, possibly handsome facial features sagged slightly from both his age when he had first died and his hollowing, which appeared to be in its first stages. He had been watching the group since they had emerged from the cave, taking note of the child and the swordsman quickly. However, as soon as his gaze fell upon the knight, he straightened his pose, looking at the man intently. As the knight moved slowly down the valley, there was something intensely familiar about him. Maybe not about him in particular, but in the way he moved, how he wore his shield and what was left of his sword, and in the way that the knight watched everything, seemingly unconcerned, secretly wary and ready for anything. It was all so familiar to Saulden, but he could not put his finger on it. He had never seen the man before, of that he was sure. But he had encountered someone, or a few people, like him.

"May we sit?" The knight was now directly in front of him, the two others standing behind. He nodded slowly, mentally kicking himself for losing track of them. They each took a seat around the bonfire, the knight and swordsman on stumps and the girl sitting cross legged to the left of them. No one spoke for a moment.

"Are you all right, Lindel?" The knight asked, glancing at the girl as he took of his helm, letting hid dark hair spill down to his shoulders and neck. Looking at him, Saulden again had the feeling that he had seen the knight before. His face could easily have been described as strong, with features including a wide, strong jaw and wide cheek bones, giving him a bear like look. His skin was scared, tan and weather beaten, showing his age and experience fighting. He was shorter than many, standing at about 5' 6'', but was wide and muscular from his shoulders down, making him incredibly stout and strong. He wore his dark hair long, and had a growing beard, now little more than a gotee. He was the very picture of a vagabond warrior.

"I am. I think." The girl was small, and Saulden immediately realized that she was very young as well. She had a traveler's cloak by her side, which she had taken off once she sat down. Underneath, she wore no armor, only a dark, light weight shirt with a hardened leather vest, along with loose cloth pants that were green and brown from the time on the road. Her skin was a dark brown, and her hair nearly raven black. From her accent and features, Saulden immediately placed her as a native of Jugo. Her face was cute and round, with a button nose and round, searching blue eyes. She didn't look like she belonged in Drangleic. Rather, she seemed like one that would be at home in a city, studying and living a good life. This place was going to chew her up and spit out something much different.

There was a moment of silence, with which Saulden took to examine the swordsman. As he looked, however, he realized that swordswoman would be more accurate. She did a good job of not making it obvious, as she wore a large coat that covered her torso, and a hood and mask to cover her face. Mostly she looked like just another no name traveler. It was her legs that gave her away. They had a distinctly feminine curve from her boots to her center, normally hidden by the coat and baggy pants. He wondered briefly why she was masquerading as a man, but discarded the thought just as quickly. It didn't matter in any case. After all, none of them would be lucid enough for names or reasons to be important soon enough.

"What is this place?" She asked, rousing Saulden out of his thoughts. She had a dry voice that could be confused with a young man's. It occurred to Saulden that she was probably changing it herself, to try and keep up her disguise. It was comical, and Saulden let a small chuckle free before explaining in his flat, lifeless tone that seemed to be the only one that he saw fit to use now.

"This is Majula, lass." At the last word, the woman flinched, realizing that she had been caught. Saulden, however, continued unfazed. "It's likely the only safe place in this entire damned, ruined kingdom. Though not for much longer, I think. Those soldiers will be coming back soon, defeated and angry. Soon, there will be no place left that is safe in all of Drangleic."

Silence reigned once again, until the knight spoke. His voice was low, and seemed to call attention without trying to.

"Who else is in this town?"

"Oh, a few who haven't lost their mind yet. An old but surprisingly lucid blacksmith by the hill, an armorer in the building by the giant hole, and myself, an old, tired knight." Saulden then bowed sarcastically, mocking both himself and the other residents of Majula.

"And what of the soldiers you mentioned earlier?" The knight sounded unamused at Saulden's antics, and Saulden was about to tell him where he could take his attitude, but stopped. He decided to speak, wanting to see what the knight would do.

"A group of soldiers, perhaps fifteen or so, went into the forest, trying to reach the fort. They believe that something in the fort will tell them where to go next. Fools are probably already hollow." He finished with a sigh, ready to be done talking. Telling about the fates of the soldiers had made him more glum than usual, and he wanted to retire to his silence.

"And who told them that?"

"The woman. Some sort of fortune teller or something. She is around here somewhere." Now Saulden rose, finished talking. With a wave, he turned and strode towards his tent, to brood and eventually sleep. As he walked, however, he kept wondering who the knight reminded him of. He couldn't place his finger on it, but it was something old. Older than Saulden himself was. He would dwell on it for the rest of the night, before eventually giving up. It would come to him eventually, he would think to himself.

He just had to wait.

…..

"Well he was pleasant." Lindel spoke softly, hoping to not draw the crestfallen knight's attention. When she looked over to Jericho, however, she saw that he was watching the man leave with something akin to empathy on his face. "Is something the matter Jericho?"

"No. I've just seen that man's type before. He's broken. Spirit, body, heart, all of it. He just doesn't have a reason to live. You see it sometimes on the battlefield. Men just stop and realize that they don't have reasons to fight, or they lose their reasons to the war. Eventually, they become shells of themselves, waiting for death. Don't be frightened of that man girl. Feel sorry for him."

"Mmm." Christo muttered, annoyed at the knight for telling her secret to her companions. She could not tell if they had caught it or not, but it would be best to let it lie for now. "So, what are we going to do now?"

"Well," Jericho said as he got up from his seat, stretching as much as he could in his armor. "I am going to go see that blacksmith for a new sword, then the armorer for armor. Then, I am going to stay the night and go to the old fort tomorrow. Come with me or don't. Your choice."

And with that, he left to search for the smith. And when Lindel turned to Christo, she found that the swordsman wasn't there, and was instead walking towards a shed in the middle of the beaten down town. Realizing she was now alone, she quickly rose and scurried off after Christo.

...

The blacksmith hadn't been hard to find. All Jericho had to do was follow the sound of the hammer and the smell of molten metal. As he stood outside the hut, the hammer beating tirelessly on the metal, he wondered how he would go about paying for his sword, as he didn't have anything of value.

As he entered the door, he decided that he would let the blacksmith decide. However, as he poked his head in to look for the man, he was shocked to find the rotted form of a hollow inside. Just as he was about to draw the remainder of his sword to deal with it, it spoke.

"You!" He nearly shouted in a deep, gravel filled voice that instantly caught Jericho's attention. "Stand back, this is dangerous work."

He did not stop working, and continued to talk with the rhythm of the hammer.

"The name's Lenigrast. Just a simple blacksmith. And you are?" He looked back, and Jericho saw his eyes fill with something strange. It seemed like remembrance, but the gruff man quickly covered it with a look of disdain before turning around and resuming work. "Ugh. Another useless traveler."

At this, Jericho prickled, but kept his temper in check. Instead, he spoke calmly, trying to gauge why the blacksmith was so hostile. "My name is Jericho, and I have come to you hoping that you might assist me. I need a sword forged."

"Well I'll need more to go on than that lad."

"I know," Jericho breathed, annoyed. He then listed off what he needed of the sword. A blade of three and a half feet, with a ten inch handle. The pommel, opposite of many swords, would curve down to protect the hand. That caused Lenigrast to raise an eyebrow, but Jericho quickly explained that he had used those types of pommels before to great effect. When asked about the bindings on the handle, Jericho simply said to use whatever Lenigrast wished.

"Alright, boy." The old undead said once they were finished. He straightened, audible pops sounding from his back as he stood. "I will have it ready by tomorrow. In the meantime, give me that broken sword and I will make a dagger for you. Dangerous to be around here with no weapon."

Jericho surrendered the broken sword without protest, and silently watched the old smith work. The grind stone withered the jagged piece of metal at the end into a fine point, which the smith then sharpened. After that, the smith ground down the pommel, so that there was only two inches of it left on the handle. Finally, the smith fished through a box to produce a scabbard for the dagger. Placing the blade inside, he then tossed it to Jericho before quickly shooing him out of the shop, claiming that he had work to do.

…..

As the night came upon Majula, Jericho sat by the fire, enjoying the warmth it brought to his callused, tired hands. Across from him, Christo stared into the flames, silent. The girl had long since gone to sleep in one of the standing tents, and no other residents of Majula joined them.

Once he had finished with Lenigrast, Jericho roamed around Majula for a while, until he eventually made it to the armorer Maughlin. After speaking to the jittery merchant, Jericho was able to walk away with some more durable armor. Aparently, the man had not actually made it. Instead, it seemed to be left over soldier armor from the Drangleic army. While it was old and slightly rusted, it was actually surprisingly strong. However, due to the fact of it being heavier than his current ware, he chose to not wear it until he was ready to go to the old fort.

The armor, however, wasn't the only thing he managed to grab from the armorer. While rummaging around the back of his store, Jericho found an old metal kite shield under some random assortments of gauntlets and leggings. It fit his arm snugly, and he managed to get it from Maughlin for a couple of the crystals that he had collected and his old shield.

And so now he sat by the fire, his shield and armor in the tent he had claimed for his own. If this were anywhere except Majula, he would have been worried about thievery. But, the low populace combined with the obvious punishments were enough to keep him at ease. Thievery would likely be the least of his worries here.

He pulled out his new dagger and absentmindedly ran his finger along the edge, checking its sharpness. It drew blood almost immediately, and put it away with a satisfied grunt and drew out a rag to soak up the small amount of blood. With that finished, he had now done everything in his power to ensure that he was ready for the next day. Now he just had to get his sword.

Across the fire, Christo had started to sharpen her scimitar, having already done so with her sword. She slid the whet stone from hilt to tip in an expertly smooth motion. She did this many times, never halting or hitching her stroke, until it was satisfyingly sharp.

"Are you coming with me tomorrow?" he asked, deciding to skip pleasentries. Christo stopped sharpening, glanced up at him, and put the sword and stone down. For a moment, she didn't say anything. Then she pulled back her hood, revealing not-quite shoulder length blond hair, framing a pretty face. It was angular and slender, with a sort of elfish look to it. The only blemish on it was a scar that ran from her ear to her chin along her jaw line, white against her brown skin.

"You still want me to, seeing this?" She asked, pointing to her face.

"So what?" Jericho asked, confused. "I have plenty of scars as well, in places you would never imagine."

"No." She said hotly. She stared at Jericho hard, trying to tell if he was joking or not. Deciding that he really was clueless, she sighed and finally said, "Because I'm a woman."

"Why would that matter?" Jericho said with a quizzical look. When she simply gave him a blank stare, he continued. "You are an amazing swordswoman, your tough, and you're reliable. Why would I care if you were a woman?"

She simply looked at him, flabbergasted. "So you don't care?"

"No."

"Huh. Most men think I can't handle myself because I am a woman."

"Really?" Jericho asked, genuinely surprised. "Well, those men obviously never met Brunhilde the Battle Beast. I once watched her take out an entire battalion of enemy soldiers single handedly."

"Ha, yeah I have heard of her." Christo said, relaxing. Of course she had heard the legend of Brunhilde, it was one of her favorite bedtime stories when she was a child.

"Wait, you knew her?" She asked, just realizing his words. "But she lived a hundred years ago!"

"Knew her? We were good friends, actually. And when the madness took her, I was the one who put her down." Jericho admitted. He got a nostalgic look in his eye, and then spoke in a voice thick with remembrance, "She was a good woman. Hurt to kill her."

"So, you're over a hundred years old?" Christo asked, shocked.

"Yes. I must say, I have aged remarkably well." Jericho said jokingly. However, Christo would have none of it, and continued to dig.

"How are you still sane?"

"Well, not sure really. I have been fighting since I became undead, so that might be a part of it. Also, might be because I kept myself busy. I don't really know or care. So, back to our earlier topic, are you coming tomorrow or what?"

Thinking for a moment, she said, "Yes, of course. Leave at first light?"

"No, more like noon. I have to get my sword from old Lenigrast, and I don't like to wake up early."

"Fine." She conceded, getting up to go to bed. On her way there, she looked back, catching Jericho's gaze and holding it.

"Thank you." She said simply, and then was gone.

"Of course, my lady." He said quietly, snickering to himself. Some men were just idiots if they didn't accept her help. Then again, they were probably dead, so that problem solved itself.

He sat by the fire another hour or so, remembering old battles and good times, before he realized that he wasn't alone. It was subtle at first. Some crickets stopped chirping for a couple minutes. After that, more things seemed out of place. Cloth flapping in the breeze just beyond the fire light, twigs snapping, and a quiet sigh periodically.

Curiosity surpassing his caution, he yelled out, "Come sit by the fire. Its cold out." Silence reigned for a moment, and he thought perhaps he was going a little crazy. However, as he prepared to yell again, he heard a rustling. Slowly, a cloaked form came into the light and sat by the fire.

"There you are." He said, looking at her. She wore a green cloak covering her entire form, leaving only her front exposed when she sat down. Underneath, she wore a dress designed for travel, with a strange emblem on her chest. From what he could see under the hood, she was red haired, fair skinned, and, if he wasn't mistaken, actually quite beautiful.

As he was studying her, Jericho knew instinctively that she was doing the same to him. She seemed to have a sort of aurora that spoke to the intelligence that she held. He had no doubt that she had been watching him for a lot longer than he had been aware. It was an almost animal like quality, and Jericho could easily compare her to a wolf in both beauty and presence.

He would have spoken, but she seemed to be preparing to say something, and so he remained silent.

"Are you…the next monarch?" She asked softly, pausing in the middle. Her voice was soft, and she seemed hesitant to speak, giving Jericho the sense that she did not converse with others often. "Or are you merely a pawn of fate?"

"I think they have the potential be the same thing, to be honest." Jericho said, never taking his eyes off of the woman.

She nodded slowly, accepting the answer. "Of that, you may be correct."

"Are you the fortune teller I was told of?" Jericho asked, pressing.

"I am not a fortune teller. I just know the path of the king." She spoke in a way that left no doubt that she told the truth.

Pressing further, he asked, "Tell me about it."

Taking a breath, she began. "I will not tell you it all now, only the first step. You must begin by going to the Great forest through the tunnel by the shore. Beyond it, a fort lies. In it you will find the soldiers who defended this land long ago. Conquer them, and gain your power. In this fort lies two great dangers. Two powers of old, one full of rage, the other full of purpose. One a colossal beast thought long dead. The other a knight that will haunt you until it claims you as its prize. Best them, and then return to me to continue your journey."

Jericho took this in, silent in his thoughts. He had a purpose, which was one step farther than he had been before. He wasn't sure about being a king, but he would follow the path, as he really had no alternative. More than that, however, he felt that it was the right course of action, at least for now.

He was shook from his thoughts as the woman's gaze shifted to the pendant around his neck. She stared at it hard, and for the first time, Jericho was concerned that she might try to rob him.

"Strange, where did you find that pendant?" She asked, the kindness masking her curiousity.

"An old woman's hut, believe it or not."

She again nodded, smiling slightly beneath the hood. She then continued, speaking in the same soft voice. "That amulet belonged to another, long ago. It is even more ancient that you are. Cherish it. And never, ever, let it out of your sight."

She got up in a swirl of cloth and robes. As she walked away, she spoke. "Seek misery." She said cryptically. "For misery will lead you to greater, stronger souls."

"Wait!" Jericho yelled, jumping up from his seat. "What should I call you?"

Still for a moment, she quietly responded, "You may call me the Herald. Good luck, Jericho."

And so she was gone.

…..

As Jericho tossed and turned that night, his dreams took him. He went to a place he did not know, and had never even heard of. It seemed to be a set of ruins on a cliff side, with the most prominent feature being a large bonfire in the middle. He didn't stare there long, as he sped through the air and up the mountain, through a sewer and up a set of stairs to a small open square, littered with bricks, barrels, and undead soldiers. He just floated in the air for a moment, confused, until he saw a figure coming out of the sewer stairway.

The figure wore the armor of a knight, and had the visor of the helm closed. They were of medium height and build, and wielded a longsword in their right hand, a shield in their left. He had a certain step in his stride that betrayed his experience and confidence. He engaged with the hollow soldiers there readily, and dispatched them quickly with experienced swordplay that simply out classed their insane rushes. The knight moved quickly onward, evading a thrown bomb and kicking the bomber off of the building to the rocks below. He moved into a building, causing Jericho to fly into it as well. As he watched, a hollowed soldier burst through a cabinet, bringing his axe down upon the knight. Thinking quickly, the knight reached up, caught the axe, and using the hollow's momentum threw him to the other side of the room. He caught the hollow while it was turning back to him, sliding his longsword along its throat.

Finished, the knight scaled the stairs and came to a long bridge. He crossed it with ease, head turning side to side, looking for trouble.

The trouble, however, came from the sky in the form of a massive red dragon landing on the bridge. Upon its landing, the bridge shook violently, crushing some of the stone and putting the fear of god into the knight. Immediately, the knight dove to the ground, lying prone until the great beast flew off, shaking the bridge even more than the first time. Getting up, the knight ran to the other of the bridge, hoping for some cover from the dragon and fearful of the bridge collapsing. However, all he found was a large clearing littered with battlements and undead soldiers. The knight, obviously fearful of the dragon, wasted no time and slayed the undead even more quickly, not caring about his stamina. However, as he ran his sword through the last hollow, he was struck by a crossbow bolt that buried itself in his back right shoulder. The blow nearly knocked the knight over, and he had to dive behind a battlement to gain his feet and breath. Once he did, however, he located the crossbowman and advanced on him, giving him no opportunity to hit anything but his shield. When the knight reached the hollow, he disarmed the undead and threw it off of the castle to the street below.

And so it went, through the dream. The knight would dispatch the groups of armed undead with his swordplay and smarts, and continually progressed. He made it to a tower, and ran up the spiral staircase to the very top. He had dispatched every undead he had encountered, and Jericho could tell that the knight was feeling confident. When he got to the top, he strolled through the doorway to a long path that led to a massive bridge. He strolled across it confidently, not seeing any trouble.

The first sign something was amiss was the sound of rumbling and pounding. And then, something jumped from the tower right in front of the knight, landing in front of the man. The beast was at least twelve feet tall, with a huge, muscular frame covered in hair and grime. Its face resembled a bull, and was complete with massive horns at least four feet long. It stood upright on massive hooves, and its three fingered hands gripped a massive club.

For an instant, there was no movement, as the knight and the beast sized each other up. But, after that single moment, the beast exploded forward, thundering towards the knight. The knight attempted to be prepared for the rush, but was simply unable to stand against the great beast. Closing in, the beast swung its club from its side. The blow smashed against the knight's shield, propelling the undead backwards along the path. As he was flying through the air, the knight saw something on the spire behind him that actually gave him hope. As he crashed to the ground, he rolled and regained his footing, a plan coming together in his mind. The beast once again closed in on him, and once again swung his club from his side. This time, however, the knight ducked underneath the blow. As the beast was recovering from the miss, the knight stepped in and unleashed with his sword, slicing along the beasts ribs and chest. The thick fur and bone did make valuable armor, and he wasn't able to inflict any mortal wounds, but the knight did succeed in angering the beast. Without thinking, the beast swung its left arm down, trying to squish the knight beneath its mighty palm. However, the knight side stepped, and in the moment between the beast's hand hitting the ground and the hand attempting to retract and smash again, the knight slashed along the demon's face, blinding it in one eye. When it reared and held its face, the knight turned and bolted, scrambling up the ladder that he had seen when he was flying through the air.

He got about half way up when he heard the beast bellow. As he climbed, he felt the tower shake and shudder, and knew that the beast was following him up. As he reached the top, he turned and prepared to strike. When the beast poked his head up, he stabbed, catching it in the eye. Roaring in pain, the beast grabbed the knight and fell.

Jericho watched as they hit the ground with a crash, both of them unmoving. After a few minutes, the knight got up, revealing his sword that had been buried in the beast's chest. As he stood, he withdrew the sword and sheathed it. His shield had been bashed in by the fall, and was now a twisted piece of metal. He threw it off, and didn't watch as it fell. Instead, he watched the beast, now slowly disintegrating. It bubbled with white sprites, and the moment that the body disintegrated fully, they flew into the knight. He stumbled for a moment, then stood tall and proud, the souls giving him more strength than ever.

Without a backwards look, the knight walked on, to the other tower, and whatever lay beyond.

...

With a start, Jericho awoke, sweating and breathing heavily. It was morning, and the light streamed through his tent. Shaking off the tiredness, he stood and began to dress, ready to get started for the fort today.

He never noticed the pendant around his neck glowing slightly.

**Hey guys, thanks for reading this chapter. Things will be picking up in Drangleic come the next one, and i am ready to bring it to you. As always, thanks to Leider Hosen for being my idea bouncer-offer. Its funny, I think the song Forever, by Breaking Benjamin, kind of sets up the Sort of hopefulness experienced in this chapter, while at the same time giving an undertone of how that hope will be broken. (into tiny, powdered dust pieces.) As always, please review, and if you do, give a song that would be good for this or a different chapter. **

**Thanks guys, and and have a good one.**


	5. Chapter 4

Chapter 4

Once Jericho had dressed and shook off the dream, he stepped out of his tent to a view that astounded him.

The sun blazed over the sea, creating a cascade of orange, yellow, red, and pink that sparkled and danced on the surface of the water. The colors melded together and blazed the land, turning everything into a shade of gold. The sight, in a word, was incredible.

Towards the cliffs overlooking the sea, a stone monument stood on a small peninsula jutting out over the ocean. The grey of it was bathed golden yellow by the sun, and it shone brilliantly in the morning light. Walking quickly, Jericho crossed the rocky ground towards the monument, wanting to see the ocean unobstructed. Stepping onto the smooth stone, he turned the corner and walked to the end, staring off into the horizon. Turning, he saw that there was a sort of stone bench carved into the monument, and sat down to enjoy the view. Soon, however, he heard footsteps slapping against the stone, and a Lindel came from his left, not realizing that he was there. She looked upon the scene with wide eyed wonder, and Jericho smiled despite himself. She wore no hood, and her black hair blew in the breeze, whipping around her tanned, youthful face. For the first time, her youth was on full display, and she truly looked her age.

After a few minutes, Lindel turned towards the statue, and jumped back in surprise, seeing him for the first time. She stumbled back, teetering precariously over the edge before being grabbed by Jericho and pulled to the bench. Both now looked at where she had just been a moment before, so close to death that she could still feel it. After a moment, however, Lindel started to chuckle uncontrollably. This, after a few seconds, got Jericho going until they were both roaring with laughter. After a few minutes, they started calm down, and Lindel spoke, still giggling.

"Well, Sir Jericho," She began, emphasizing the 'sir', "It seems I am running up quite a debt to you. Soon, you'll have me washing your armor as payment!" She said smiling and whipping her hand along his exposed chainmail on his arm.

"I tell you what; you just call me Jericho, and be more careful, and we will be even." He said, grinning ear to ear. This elicited another laugh from the girl, who simply nodded her head in response.

"Oh, fine!" She said playfully, turning her head to look at the sunrise again. "It truly is beautiful."

"Yes it is." Jericho whispered. The light had grown even more brilliant, and for a few minutes, the sea held no blue, but a cascade of different colors.

"Which do you like more; Sun rises or sun sets?" She asked him suddenly, breaking his trance. After contemplating for a little bit, he asked her why she asked.

"Oh, I just think it says a lot about a person. Not just the question, but the reasons for the answer."

"Hmph. Clever." He mumbled, mulling over the question. Finally, he gave his answers. "I think I like sunsets more. They are much more grand, in my opinion, also they seem to last longer. Also, I think it is kind of poetic how the light easily fades to dark, retiring but promising to shine again and take the dark away."

"Well," The girl said, her chuckles returning. "I wasn't expecting so, philosophical, an answer. I just like sunrises because they are quicker."

This caused them both to go into another fit of giggles. In times like these, it was nice, even for a brief moment, to escape reality and have a good laugh.

They didn't move on until the sun was a full handbreadth above the horizon, when Jericho decided that it was time. Standing, he started walking down the stairs towards the blacksmith, with Lindel in tow. Before they got there, however, Lindel broke off to sit by the bonfire, leaving Jericho to face the smith alone.

Standing in the doorway, Jericho was assaulted with the stench of molten metal and sweat, a combination that he had become very familiar with over the years. Lenigrast, who was wearing the same garb as he was the day before, busily hammered a piece of iron, repeatedly striking it like the tick of a clock. Jericho didn't interrupt, and waited for a few minutes until the old smith turned and placed the hot iron into a bucket of water, cooling it quickly. Now finished, the smith turned to the table at his side and pulled a long tan sack from it. Turning again, he handed the thing to Jericho, who took it gently. Opening it, Jericho reached inside, grasped the handle, and pulled out what was to be his new sword.

It was perfect. The handle had a bell end, and was wrapped in tight leather. The guard, which was curved towards the blade, left enough space that if he needed to, he could two hand the sword comfortably, but still provided excellent protection. Taking off the sheath, he saw that the blade itself was a dark metal, with a slight blue hue to it. It was double edged with a blade that was around three feet long. It was an inch and a quarter at its widest, and tapered down perfectly, giving it both strength and flexibility.

"This is… More than I was expecting." Jericho said, unable to tear his eyes from the blade. The weight was perfect for him, as was the length. He knew that he would be able to switch between shield and sword to two handing the sword easily. "Is this normal steel?"

"No, Geisteel. Strongest ore known to anyone."

"How did you make this in one day?"

"I didn't." The smith said dismissively. Confused, Jericho was about to question him when he explained himself. "I made this sword fifty years ago. I was in Volgen at the time, with a four year old daughter. I was working for a lord outside the city when bandits from Jugo came into town and started to pillage everything. Lord wound up dead, so some of the mercenaries that he was employing just left, some others joined the bandits. I grabbed my daughter and ran, but barely managed to get out of my shop before being knocked to the ground. It turned out that a couple bandits were outside. I thought that we were done for, me and my daughter. But then someone jumped in between us and the bandits. It was a mercenary that I had seen around the property, who decided that he wasn't going to join them. I watched him defend us against four other men, and one by one, they all fell. Afterwards, he barricaded us in my shop and continued to try and rescue people. After mercenaries from the city came and restored order, I looked for the man, but could never find him. I forged this sword to give him whenever I met him again."

Jericho couldn't really speak, the shock of the memories and the situation hitting him hard. When he didn't speak, Lenigrast snorted and, in an attempt to lighten the mood, said, "You've aged better than me, sir."

"I guess I have, Lenigrast." He responded distantly. "I remember now, everything that happened. I left because I was pursuing the leader of the bandits, as he had taken something from me that I was going to get back."

He regarded the sword again, and spoke to Lenigrast while not looking at him. "The fact that you held this sword for fifty years… It's remarkable. And you got it perfect without me even telling you what I needed. How?"

"I was a blacksmith for the Falconers for a time, and a smith in war before that. I learned how to determine what weapon was right for someone just by watching them fight."  
"Well… Thank you, sir, thank you." Jericho said as he slid the sword back into its sheath. "How much do I owe you?"

"It's a gift, though I would like a favor." The smith mumbled the last part, and piqued Jericho's interest. "You see, my infernal daughter, the vagabond she is, found her way here years ago, and I came to find her. I've had no luck. Please, she's the only thing keeping me sane. I need to know that she's safe."

"I'll find her." Jericho said immediately.

The smith nodded his head, and it seemed as if a great weight came off of his shoulders. "Good. Now if you'll excuse me, I must return to work."

"Of course." Jericho said, sliding the sheath and sword onto his belt before leaving, the steady hammering resuming as he exited the shed.

…..

Leaving the shed, Jericho moved quickly to his tent and strapped on his chest piece over his chainmail and cloth shirt. His leather arm guards tightened down on his chainmail sleeves, and his hard leather and cloth pants and boots covered his chainmail leggings completely. Finally, he put on his helmet, the hard leather sliding easily around his head to a snug fit. With his ritual complete, he stepped out of the tent, looking for Christo.

She was sitting by the fire, waiting for him. She was already prepared, armor and swords strapped on and ready. Upon seeing him, she immediately stood and walked towards him, an unasked question on her face.

"What do we do about the girl?" She asked quietly, motioning to Lindel, who was sitting by the fire, looking at them expectantly. This was one thing that Jericho hadn't considered. However, he made up his mind quickly.

"We take her." He said. Christo immediately started to protest, but Jericho stopped her. "Listen. We can either leave her here, where she MIGHT not be in danger. But we won't be able to protect her if something happens. We take her, and we can protect her no matter what. If you don't want to protect her, fine. I'm going to. I have seen what happens to young girls when desperate soldiers come around, looking for some stress relief."

Christo held up her hands, backing off. She spoke quietly again, trying to keep it down. "Fine. But mark my words, she is going to get us killed. You don't bring little girls onto a battlefield." And with that, she turned and walked past the fire, to the flaming basin that marked their way.

"Who brought you there?" Jericho asked quietly, watching her go.

He walked over to Lindel and kneeled before her. He was about to speak when he was cut off.

"Am I coming?" She asked, obviously scared.

Thinking for a moment, he asked, "Do you want to?"

"Yes." She said immediately, nodding her head vigorously. "But…"

"But what?"

"I don't think Ms. Christo wants me to."

Smiling, Jericho said kindly, "She just doesn't want you hurt."

"What do you think?" She asked, staring at him.

"I think you'll be safer with us."

The effect of his words was obvious, as Lindel immediately smiled and nodded her head in agreement. However, he wasn't finished. As she watched, Jericho took off the small sheath that held his dagger and presented it to her, saying, "Especially with this."

She took it gently, and pulled out the dagger slowly, watching as the dark metal slid out of the sheath with a slight scraping noise. She held it to the sun, examining it. The blade was about a foot long, and the entire thing was as long as her arm. She looked at it with wonder on her face, and Jericho smiled widely.

"Don't use it unless you need to. And don't miss."

"I won't!" She said confidently, nodding her head. She quickly sheathed the blade and secured the sheath onto her belt. They both rose and followed Christo, each feeling lighter hearted than the situation should have allowed.

…..

The trip through the cave was short, but still instilled in each a sense of nervousness. Christo led, with Lindel in the middle and Jericho on rear guard. Each held their own trepidations in the dark, dank cave. Throughout the walk, the drip of water could be heard in a maddeningly monotonous, erythematic pattern. Towards the end, the roar of water drown out the drip until they came to a small waterfall, bridged long ago with wooden boards that looked rickety and rotted.

Christo went first, walking slowly along the rotted boards. It was no easy feat in the dark, with only a small amount of light reaching them from the end of the cave. However, she did make it, and signaled to the two others to come. Lindel went first, making it half way before Jericho too stepped onto the board. As they crossed, Lindel seemed to slow, nervous of the board shaking. Unfortunately for her, Jericho did not see her stop, and continued walking down the board until he was a few steps away. Upon seeing her, he realized his error. At the same time, they all heard the cracking of wood.

Jericho acted quickly, years of training shocking him into action. Taking Lindel, he threw her across the board to the other side, where Christo attempted to catch her. With no more time left, the board broke. In the last second, Jericho leapt to his left, hoping to find something to catch him. Time itself seemed to slow as he fell. It took two seconds for him to plummet down onto a large rock, though it seemed much longer. He landed with a thud, grateful that it wasn't a splash.

"Are you all right?" Christo yelled, looking for him.

"Yeah." Jericho responded weakly, getting to his feet. If it wasn't for his chest plate, he knew that he would have cracked some ribs. As it was, all he felt was soreness in his chest and left arm. Shaking it off, he noticed a hole to his right where water was spilling out, lighted by day light.

"I can see a way out." He said, trying to judge the distance.

"Be careful!" Lindel yelled, concerned.

With no other recourse, Jericho backed up to the edge of his small island and ran, as fast as he could, to the end of the rock and jumped into the darkness.

He almost didn't make it. He had misjudged the distance slightly, and slammed into the rock with his chest. He scrambled with his arms, slipping until he managed to stop himself by flattening his arms against the smooth surface. Struggling against the weight of his armor and equipment, he was eventually able to haul himself over the edge. He laid in the water for a few moments, exhausted. However, he rose when he heard the sound of swords clashing.

Moving quickly, he ran through the ankle deep water until it rose to his knees, and then waist. Once he exited the cave, he immediately went to his left, getting onto land. Running now, he careened down the path along the river, dodging the odd tree that blocked his path, the sounds of battle growing louder and louder.

He didn't have to run far to find them. Lindel and Christo were surrounded by 5 hollow soldiers. Their swords were in horrible repair, but they seemed to have retained some of their skill. Even still, they would not be an issue in low numbers. However, the amount of hollows were proving too much for Christo. She couldn't attack, and was slowly falling back. Eventually, she would back into the cliff face, and with nowhere left to run, would be sliced to bits by the hollows' blades.

He didn't think. He moved on instinct. He ran straight at the hollows, who were too focused on Christo and Lindel to notice him. Once he got close enough, he raised his shield and bashed one of the hollows in the back of the neck, severing its spinal cord and dropping it in a heap. Moving quickly, he moved his shield to deflect a strike from the hollow on his left, while simultaneously stabbing the hollow on his right, running his sword through the hollow's neck. Removing it quickly, he felt the hollow drop behind him as he continued to engage the hollow on his left.

Seizing the opportunity, Christo struck, slashing her scimitar upwards into a hollow's sternum, stopping when the blade hit the rib cage. Letting go of the scimitar, the swung her short sword as hard as she could at the hollow's head. The blade didn't quite decapitate it, but went far enough that the thing dropped like a sack of rocks. She quickly retrieved her scimitar and turned to the last hollow, only to find that it had passed her in the fray and was now closing in on Lindel. Thinking quickly, she reached back and threw her sword like a throwing knife, impaling the hollow in its back. The force and the weight of the blade knocked the hollow to the ground, in front of Lindel. Before either of the other two warriors could do anything, the girl took her dagger and stabbed down, putting all of the weight of her body into the blade. It plunged into the hollow's heart, stilling it.

As quickly as it had begun, the battle was over, with only the heavy breathing of the survivors making noise in the clearing.

Jericho recovered first, used to the demands of battle. Christo was ready soon after, wanting to get moving before it got dark. Lindel was last, a little bit shocked at the sudden battle and sudden stop. Jericho had seen it many times before in new soldiers who'd had their first taste of battle. She was shell shocked by the sudden violence that was inflicted on her and that she had inflicted. Most of the soldiers got over it, in time. However, most soldiers weren't little girls. Checking to make sure Christo was watching for any more hollows, Jericho walked over to the girl and squatted down level to her. He didn't know what to say, so he spoke what came to his mind.

"Are you…Alright?" he asked, pausing in the middle to find the right words. The girl didn't look at him, but nodded.

"That's good." He mumbled loud enough for her to hear. He was drawing a blank on what to say to make her feel better. Finally, he just said, "We need to move."

The girl's only response was to stand and nod. She looked away from the hollow, and seemed to snap out of her funk, at least for the time being.

Jericho took the lead this time, hoping to mitigate any damage that could be done to Christo or Lindel. They proceeded without any further surprises, and were able to forward the river with no problems. As they walked, no one spoke. Jericho and Christo because they were listening for anything amiss, and Lindel because she was scared of making noise.

As they walked along the river, they started to go up an incline. The path that they followed led to a small cave. Signaling for a halt, Jericho proceeded into the cave alone, looking for any trouble. What he found was an old Iron ladder, rusted into the cave's side. Above him, the cave went up like a cylinder until it reached the surface. He could see daylight above him, and also saw that the ladder did reach all the way up. He waved at the other two, bringing them to him.

"I'll go up first." He said, motioning to the ladder. "I'll yell when it's safe."

"Be careful." Lindel whispered, nervousness in her voice. Jericho nodded to her and proceeded up the ladder. The climb took about three minutes, and was made all the more difficult with his armor. But finally he reached the top and clambered over the edge.

Immediately, an arrow imbedded itself in the ground next to him.

Rolling, he quickly stood, seeing now that he was surrounded by hollows. There was seven of them, all approaching slowly.

Many soldiers, seeing this, would assume that being defensive was best against these numbers, but that would have got them killed. With that many hollows, they would be overwhelmed quickly.

And so, drawing his sword, Jericho went with the opposite approach. Moving quickly, he closed in with the first hollow, blocked its overhand slash, and stabbed it through its chest, ripping it's heart to shreds. Retracting his sword, he noticed a second hollow closing in. He easily stepped back, avoiding its hap hazard slashes, before parrying with his sword and stepping close before delivering a massive blow with the side of his shield, shattering the monster's skull.

As he continued going through the hollows, he did not think about much of anything, aside from positioning, target areas, and defensive measures. He did not find joy or satisfaction in this, as it was almost unfair. Though he knew that he fought for his life, he could not seem to get excited, as the hollows were not much of a threat to a seasoned warrior.

He carved through the last one, its souls flowing into him as it fell to the ground, lifeless. Turning, he was just about ready to yell down to the other two when he saw Christo pop her head out of the hole, looking around before climbing up, followed quickly by Lindel.

"I thought I said to wait for me to yell." He said as he trotted over to them, keeping an eye out.

"We were going to, but more hollows showed up down there." Christo replied evenly as she stood, stretching out from her climb. "We thought it would be better up here. Nice work, by the way."

"You're probably right." Jericho mumbled, moving towards the hole and looking down. There were about eight of them down there, staring up at them. Luckily, it appeared that they lacked the intelligence to ascend the ladder, at least for now.

"We had better get mov…." Christo's voice cut off, causing Jericho to whip around to see what was the matter.

In front of them, in the opening of a long decayed and crumbling arch way, a hollow flew out of the door, landing in a heap. As they watched, an armored knight walked from the door way, finishing the hollow before looking at them. He was covered head to toe in chainmail, and likely had a plate beneath the white cloak he wore that covered his midsection. His legs were covered in plates, and his hands were equipped with thick metal gauntlets. His sword that he held was a very well made long sword, with runes that ran along the length of the blade, causing the blade itself to emit a gold aurora that betrayed its electrical enhancement. His most striking feature, however, was his helmet. It was a great helm, and was white with gold trim. However, he had been through the ringer. There were multiple crossbow bolts jutting from the metal on his armor, the armor itself was dulled through years of wear, and he walked in a hunched, tired manor. He resembled a battered warrior of the gods.

And now he was standing in their way.

Jericho was wondering what to do when the knight pointed his longsword right at Jericho. Stepping forward, he drew his sword and shield, ready to combat the armored man. However, the moment was shattered by an arrow narrowly missing his face. He had forgotten about the archer. The knight was trying to trick him.

Or not.

The knight did not move, and seemed to wait for something. Jericho, upon seeing this, cautiously moved towards the archer, keeping an eye on both of them. Once he reached the hollow, he disemboweled it quickly, ever nervous of the knight watching him. When it did not move, it finally came together in Jericho's mind.

The knight wanted a duel. Somewhere, in the hollowed man that he saw, a sense of dignity and honor remained, forcing the knight to hold off for a proper duel.

Jericho grinned as he removed his shield, leveling the field. He then looked to Christo, who nodded and sheathed her blades. Lindel looked confused, but he just nodded to her and smiled. She didn't smile back, and only frowned in worry.

He then walked towards the knight until they were about four paces apart. The knight readied his longsword, a peculiar one with an enlarged guard that angled up, likely for catching blades. Jericho then did the same, holding it in two hands, left foot forward, blade pointed at the white knight.

It began with them circling around each other, each studying the other in the hopes of finding a weakness. Jericho was able to confirm that the knight did not have a plate under his cloak, which was good. Due to the heavy armor protecting the knight's legs, hands, and head, a stab through the chainmail on the knight's chest was the only available option for Jericho. And he had no doubt that his opponent, hollow or no, would know it.

The knight made the first move, dashing forward and slashing his sword down across Jericho's body, intending to rip through his leather and chainmail. Jericho parried the strike, catching the blade with his in the middle of its downward arc. The knight immediately pulled back and launched at him again, this time with a flurry of blows directed at Jericho's head.

It was all Jericho could do to block the blows raining down on him from each side, and he knew that he would have to do something soon. The electric shock was taking its toll, and He waited for the knight to launch another flurry, and when the sword slashed from the side, he ducked and stabbed forward, intending to pierce the knight's heart.

Just as the blade was about to find it's mark, the knight jumped back, safely away from danger. Moving quickly, Jericho then moved forward, unleashing his own barrage. However, it was different from the knight's. While the knight's was more of brute force in order to wear him down and cause him to break, his was intended to pick apart the knight's weaknesses and create and opening.

Not that the knight was giving him any. The knight must have been an excellent swordsman in life, the way he deflected Jericho's blows one after another. However, he was able to get in some hits on the knight's arms. While he couldn't slice through the chainmail, he knew that the knight's arms had to be bruised and hurting. Had the knight been normal, this might have led to the knight slowing down or showing signs of pain. However, the knight probably didn't feel much due to his hollowing, so Jericho could only hope that he broke a bone.

Jericho thought he was making some headway when the knight's sword smashed into his left arm. He had chainmail on, but the electricity and force still made it through. He dodged back, his arm numbed with pain, and knew he was in trouble. The knight leaped forward, smashing his shoulder into Jericho and knocking him to the ground. Jericho immediately rolled to his right when he hit the dirt, saving him from a downward stab that would have skewered him like a fish on a spear. He to his feet in time to block a slash that would have decapitated him. He was in deep trouble, he knew. He was losing ground too quickly, and he could only defend for so long until he slipped up. He had to end the battle quickly, otherwise he was doomed.

He waited until the knight swung with an overhand slash, intending to slice his neck open. However, Jericho met the knight's sword with his, blocking so that his fist was behind the blade of the knight's sword. As fast as he could, he disengaged their swords and smashed the knight in the helmet with the pommel of his blade. Though it caused no damage, it stunned the knight for a fraction of a second, long enough for Jericho to capitalize and stab him through the chainmail covering the knight's chest. The blade broke through easily, and managed to get a good seven inches inside before being ripped out by Jericho. He knew that he had gone through the knight's lung, which meant death.

However, the knight did not go down. Instead, sensing that his time was near, he rushed Jericho for all he was worth, swinging as quickly as he could. Jericho managed to block everything, and in desperation the knight tackled him to the ground, both of them losing their swords in the process.

Jericho was on his back, and narrowly dodged a gauntleted fist that smashed into the ground where his face had been. The knight then wrapped his fingers around Jericho's neck, squeezing tightly.

Jericho did everything he could. He punched, thrashed, bucked, and squirmed, all to no avail. The knight's grip was iron, and he would not yield. Just as the world grew to a dark tunnel, Jericho's hand found the knight's sword. Taking it, he jabbed, breaking through the knight's chain mail and stabbing him deep. He stabbed again, each thrust weakening the knight more and more until Jericho was finally able to knock him off.

Jericho immediately sat up, gasping for breath. He noticed the knight still moving, trying to stand but falling to his knees. He tossed the knight's sword away and retrieved his own before stumbling over to the downed knight like a drunk before falling to his knees in front of him. The knight gazed at him through the helmet, eyes tired and unfocussed. Jericho, in turn, tried to find something that said the knight himself was still alive and not just a husk. Seeing nothing, he steeled himself and stabbed, the sword tearing through the knight's chainmail and ripping apart its heart.

And, in the last moment of life, something flashed through the knight's eyes. It was just a flicker, like a flame's last breath of life.

And then the knight slumped over, dead.

…..

Jericho watched as the knight burned in the fire.

After recovering from the battle, he had Christo scout ahead while he started to retrieve dead logs. Once Christo returned, he placed the logs tightly together, creating a pyre. Lindel was confused, not understanding the meaning of the action, but none the less helped how she could.

Once the pyre was stable, Jericho lifted the fully armored knight onto it, placing the sword in the knight's hands in the ceremonial funeral position. Jericho then kneelt next to the fire, praying wordlessly to no gods in particular.

Everything was prepared when Jericho pulled out a red jar, which was filled with dried, flame producing butterflies. He threw the jar and watched as the entire pyre ignited, covering the knight in orange flames.

They watched for a time, waiting for some signal to move on. When Jericho finally turned and proceeded into the tunnel, Christo and Lindel followed quickly behind. They ran into no trouble inside, and walked up a set of stairs to a ladder. All around there was fresh blood, evidence that Christo had ran into some trouble.

Proceeding up the ladder, they found a set of massive stone doors that were open just enough for everyone to pass through single file. Inside the doors, there was a dark room, with the faint glow of the embers of a bonfire in the middle. Once the room was secured, they woke the bonfire. Throughout the experience, Jericho felt as if he was in a haze. Now he sat, staring into the bonfire, contemplating. The power he received from the knight was, in a word, substantial. He could feel the new energy surging through him, coursing through his veins. He knew he would be much faster and stronger now, but didn't quite know how he felt about it. While there was no doubt that he had earned it by killing the knight, he didn't know if it was really his. After all, the knight must have worked a lifetime to achieve the prowess and power that he had held, and Jericho had simply stolen it.

He was disturbed from his thoughts by Lindel sitting down beside him, looking at him with obvious worry.

"Christo is on watch." She said, her voice sweet and concerned. "Are you alright, sir?"

"I'm fine Lindel. I'm just… Confused."

"So am I." She said quickly, causing Jericho to raise an eyebrow. "I mean, why on earth did you fight that guy alone? He nearly killed you! And you could have taken his armor and sword, but instead you incinerated it. Why?"

Jericho was surprised, and responded quickly, like a teacher to a student. "Honor. That knight kept enough of himself sane so that he didn't forget his. He waited to challenge me to a duel, when he could have rushed me when I was dealing with all of those hollows. And, he took me to the very extent of my sword play. Some of it may have been that electric sword of his, and some of it may be because I did not have my shield, but he was so skilled, it was incredible. I wasn't sure I was going to win for a good part of the battle. And then, after everything, when I finally killed him, I saw a flash of who he was, the last part he was holding onto. He was honorable and strong, and deserved to be honored as such."

"So then why are you so glum?" She asked, pressing an unseen point.

"Because, I don't know if I deserve the power I took." He said quietly, still staring into the bonfire. "He worked a lifetime for his skill, and I just took it."

"And, had the roles been reversed? Had you been the one hanging on by a strand, what would you have wanted someone to do with your power?"

Jericho was unsure of what he should say. After all, he didn't know.

"Here is what I think." The girl said, calling Jericho's attention. "That knight was waiting for someone like you, someone with the power and will to defeat him, so that he could aid them by surrendering his souls. He held on for that, for years and years. You gave him his final wish, Jericho."

Jericho stopped, looking up with the sudden realization. He looked at the girl with a new found respect, grateful to her for clearing his head.

"You're pretty smart, aren't you?" He said, a smile playing on his lips.

Lindel grinned widely, happy that her friend was feeling better. "Top of my class."

Jericho then scooted away from the bonfire, leaning against a wall, sudden exhaustion weighing upon him. It seemed as if he could do nothing but sleep now, and he was ready for it.

"Thank you." He managed to say before he fell into the void.

Lindel turned around, smiling, not seeing the soft glow of the pendant around Jericho's neck.

…..

This time, the dream was incredibly distorted, a dark haze hanging over every image. Jericho was floating again, but it was different this time. He knew that he was in a different kingdom, though this one was similar to his first dream. There were, however, a few key differences. One was that there was a large sea on one side of the city. Another was that there was a large tower in the middle, a great flame inside.

And the city was at war.

He could see through the haze rocks smashing into the city, launched from ships in the harbor. When he looked down, he could make out the struggle of soldiers fighting what could only be described as demons. Some wielded clubs, others large blades, all tore through whole squads of soldiers in flurries of blood and blade.

He was suddenly transported to a cathedral, looking down upon a familiar looking white knight battling one of the demons with the swords. He dodged back and forth, evading the beast's savage blows and leaping it to slice at the legs or arms. Eventually, the beast rushed him, and the knight ducked to the side, ramming his sword through the beast's neck.

He ran as soon as he felt the beast fall, looking for something. Bursting through the cathedral's doors, he saw it. A woman, clothed in white, was kneeling down in prayer, facing the falling city. The knight quickly ran to her and kneeled, before quickly standing. Jericho couldn't make out what he said, though he would guess that it was something about getting her out of the city. However, he could hear her voice clearly, and it almost seemed to be speaking to him.

"My sins have come for me, sir knight. I will not survive, nor do I wish to." She spoke with finality, stopping any argument that would be made. "It is time that I paid for the crimes of the gods. You, however, must go. The curse still lives, and you must persevere. End the curse, or find the person who can."

As she finished, the door behind the knight burst open, revealing a dark swordsman. Jericho could see him through the dark haze clearly. He was covered in dark plate mail from chest to toe, and wore no helmet, revealing white skin, a bald head, and cruel facial features twisted into an evil smirk. The knight, upon seeing the swordsman, immediately leapt at him. A short sword battle, and the knight was thrown aside, and the swordsman walked towards the maiden.

The knight made to rise and attack again, but the maiden waived him away, saying, "Go complete your task, sir knight. I am fine here."

With every instinct screaming at him to leap into battle, the knight turned and ran, leaving the city.

The maiden regarded the swordsman with a blank stare, thoughts unreadable behind her eyes. The swordsman, in turn, had lost his grin and looked at her rather stoically.

"So, you are the agent of dark." She said as a statement, causing the swordsman to bow respectfully. "I guess I didn't warrant a visit from your lord, did I?"

"I suppose not." The swordsman replied, not moving.

"I'm not surprised. After all, I never really held real power in Lordran. That was my brothers and my father. I was more… ornamentation." She spoke wistfully, as if she wished she could change something. "Maybe that is why I wasn't more critical and outspoken of the decision to lay the curse upon the humans in order to perpetuate the age of fire. If I had, maybe none of this would have happened."

The swordsman remained silent, and the maiden nodded at some unasked question. Turning, she kneeled down and faced towards the balcony, praying again. "I see you have no interest in what I would change. Whenever you are ready."

"It will be quick." The swordsman said softly, walking towards the maiden as the dream faded to black. The last image Jericho saw was of the swordsman raising his sword, ready to strike.

**Well, that was fun. By the way, chain male, though cheap, doesn't do much against stabbing attacks. It was intended to defend against sword slashes, so stabbing or blunt trama (Mace, Axe, ect) Will break through pretty easily. Did a fair amount of research for this chapter, so i hope it shows in a good way. **

**Song for this chapter, i think, anyway, is Warrior, by Disturbed. **

**See ya next chapter. **


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